Lying in this old house,
Floorboards creaking
Even when the room is empty,
I am a stranger
Standing in strange moonlight
Pouring through the big old windows
Whose thin glass
Distorts the centuries.

I am certain ghosts live here.
At home in dark corners,
Curled up in sly cupboards.

This house is a city
Of stone and brick and oak.
Doors big as cathedrals,
Rooms long enough
To fade at the edges.

If only I could climb
Up the vast chimney.
Escape into the woods
Alive with bird song.

I’ll keep quiet about the pale ladies
Parading up and down the staircase,
Shimmering in their lovely dresses.
Not so lovely when they catch sight
Of anyone living.

Then they scowl until their skulls crack open.

©2022 Gwen Grant.

7 thoughts on “HOUSE OF GHOSTS

  1. That’s great Gwen, is it a house you remember from old, or does the house represent something else, a fantasy? I’m guessing that if you lived in a spooky old house, you’d not be so self aware to call it so?


  2. I lived in this house for a year when I was a girl. Hated every minute! But loved all the
    detail – the grace and beauty – the space. I was a very sick child and was very glad when
    I could go back home
    Glad you liked the poem and hope you’re keeping well.

    Liked by 1 person

  3. Love this poem. So many great lines! windows distort the centuries, curled up in sly cupboards, room long enough to fade at the edges. I can’t imagine living there but would read the book.


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